


Rinse and Repeat

by brittleblossoms



Series: The Reverse Samson [3]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Ectoplasm, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Multi, Some Emotional Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittleblossoms/pseuds/brittleblossoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Holtzmann ends up covered in ghost slime, shares the love with you, and it takes multiple shampoos to get it out of her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rinse and Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Hahah I can't stop. This is becoming a problem.
> 
> This is tonally very different from the first two in the Samson series but since it's still me indulging myself with stories including Holtzmann's hair, in it goes.
> 
> Tumblr is also brittleblossoms.
> 
> I'm 90% sure I'm gonna drag everyone to go see Ghostbusters for the fourth time for my b-day this weekend, because what's the point of b-day power if I can't use it for more Ghostbusters?

Your spoonful of cereal halts halfway through the journey to your mouth as you hear a distinct, yet somewhat muffled, “don’t you dare” before there’s a set of footsteps charging up the stairs. There’s also a quiet shriek that’s tinted with laughter. You decide that you’re not going to bother with being concerned about that. The footsteps seem a little more pressing.  


Patty races by the open arch that serves as the doorway. There’s a brief scuffling sound, and then she pops her head back in to peer at your prone form. “You better move, baby,” she says. “Fair warning.” She’s pelting up the next set of stairs before you can even fully lift your head off the couch cushions.  


“What the hell?” you mutter, dropping your spoonful back into the bowl that’s resting your chest. Someone else is coming up the stairs—from the pattern of the footfalls, they’re skipping—so you put the bowl on the table (on top of one of the coasters, because you’re on your way to memorizing Erin’s speech about condensation on the table and soon it might infiltrate your dreams). You’ve just pushed yourself up onto your elbows when Holtzmann appears in the doorway.  


She is absolutely dripping with ghost slime.  


Her hair is mostly plastered against her skull; a few curls are smeared in perfect waves across her forehead. Some of her hair has escaped the pins; it hangs down in slime-sodden ropes of blond to thump against her shoulder as she tilts her head in your direction. Even the coveralls aren’t going to make it.  


Silently, you watch a bead of slime gather at the top of one of her daffodil-tinted lenses and trickle down the bridge of her glasses. (Jillian does the same, even though she has to cross her eyes to manage the feat.) The droplet rolls down and then hangs off the tip of her nose for a brief second. Then it plunges to the floor.  


“Hey babe,” Holtz says, a smirk tugging at her lips.  


“Oh, hell no,” you say, and you bolt.  


Holtz has good reflexes, though—“I’m 90 percent sure it’s some type of ingrained survival instinct,” Abby tells you once, after a particularly heart-pounding moment where Holtz dropped and then caught something that she would only describe as ‘not something you want to make contact with the floor’ while you were all at the dinner table—and she’s already bounded into a prime position to cut you off before you can even scramble completely upright on the couch. You freeze. She flashes a grin that’s pure teeth, blue eyes alight with mischief. “Got you something while I was out,” she chirps.  


“J, don’t you dare,” you warn.  


“Sharing is caring,” she says with a cackle that you usually associate with a particularly unstable compound. And then she flings the entirety of her tiny frame over the coffee table to crash on top of you, ghost slime and all.  


It’s not a light hit; she knocks the breath right out of you, but then again, she’s been doing that for years with just her smile. You go down sideways onto the couch with an undignified noise of distress. Holtz immediately manages to maneuver herself so that she’s entirely splayed on you. It’s doubly effective—she’s pinning you down and achieving maximum sliming. You can feel it seeping through your t-shirt. The ectoplasm is cool despite Holtz’s body heat. You grimace and wiggle underneath her. She just laughs and tucks her face into the crook of your neck. Her slime-sodden hair smacks you in the face.  


“I hate you,” you mutter, and then sputter as some of her hair gets in your mouth. “Jesus, that tastes like dirty socks and freezer burn.”  


Holtz peels her face away from your neck. The accompanying squelch does not help your mood. “Congratulations,” she says sincerely, her face hovering just over yours. “You’re an honorary Ghostbuster now, like you’ve always wanted.”  


You scowl up at her. “I have literally never asked to be an honorary Ghostbuster. Also you said I was an honorary Ghostbuster after we started dating.”  


Holtz just grins. “Dating is the easiest of routes to become an honorary Ghostbuster. Ingesting slime is just the next step up.” She pecks you on the lips and reaches up to pull a few loose bobby pins out of her mass of hair. It barely budges. You briefly contemplate suggesting marketing ghost slime as hair gel. “Also, you might wanna spit that out. Still not sure what the effect is on humans.”  


“Jillian!”  


“Just messing with you! Sort of. Erin hasn’t died yet so you’re probably okay. Maybe.” Holtz tucks her face back into the crook of your neck once more. Her hair ends up across your face like a wet, moldy blanket. She ignores your half-hearted noise of protest. “You look cute when you’re mildly horrified,” she mumbles into your skin.  


You sigh and wrap an arm around her waist. “Are you ever gonna let me up so I can get this disgusting gunk off of me?”  


“Nah.”  


“I wish I could say this is the strangest display of affection that I’ve seen from the two of you,” Abby says from the doorway. You turn your head just enough to see her beyond the curtain of Holtz’s hair. “That’s a terrible ‘help me’ face,” Abby says. “You need more conviction.”  


“Man, I warned you,” Patty says, peering over Abby’s shoulder. “We need to work on your reflexes.”  


“Okay, there was a distinct lack of information in your warning!”  


Patty shrugs. “Holtzy’s fast. I didn’t avoid the actual ghost sliming me just to wait around for her to finish the job.”  


“Did you have to get slime on the couch?” Erin asks, joining the other two in the doorway. The air of resignation coats her as thoroughly as the ghost slime does. Both Patty and Abby inch away from her. You envy their current pristine condition. Erin sighs and runs a hand through her hair. It stays in the pattern that her hand leaves behind. “I loved that couch. Now it’s all—fluidy.”  


“Definitely not the first bodily fluid we’ve gotten on this couch,” Holtz says, propping herself up on your chest.  


“Really, Holtz?” Patty sighs.  


You frown. “How is slime a bodily fluid? Actually, never mind, I don’t want to know. Particularly when I’m covered in it.”  


“Pretending I didn’t hear any of that,” Abby says. “Also buying a new couch tomorrow.”  


“We flipped the cushions,” Holtz protests, sitting up so she’s straddling your hips. Her attempted look of innocence can’t hold up under the unrepentant grin that she can’t seem to control.  


“Definitely buying a new couch.”  


There’s a few moments of banter between the four of them, but you’re concentrating on wiggling out from under Holtz. You can feel your shirt stiffening as the slime starts to dry. It’s supremely uncomfortable. Finally, Holtz shifts, just a little, and you get the leverage you need. You topple her off of you with a quick twist of your hips. She whoops as she goes over. You hop to your feet and wince as your shirt crackles with the movement. Your jeans aren’t much better off. Add in the slime drying on your neck and face, and the only word is icky.  


“Christ, J,” you say, peeling off your shirt before it can weld more thoroughly to your skin. “I’m going to shower,” you announce to the Ghostbusters. Erin nods in commiseration.  


Holtz perks up. “Me too!” she says.  


You don’t even bother to protest. At least this way she can’t slime you again after you get clean.  


You hope.  


* * *

You wind a strand of Holtz’s hair around a fingertip before letting go. The strand, heavy with water, unspools itself and lands softly against her shoulder. “This is the third round,” you grumble, dispensing another dollop of shampoo onto your palm. “I’m starting to think this gunk will survive a nuclear war.”  


Holtz just hums as you delve your hands back into her hair. The water in the bathtub sloshes quietly. Even with the two of you in the tub, the sides of the old claw foot bath are high enough to keep even Holtz’s mini-tsunamis of movement from spilling water over the edges. You run your fingertips over her scalp. The shampoo smells like frangipani. The scent drifts through the humid air of the bathroom. You can feel the tension fading from your limbs.  


Holtz is oddly quiet as you work your hands through her hair. The lather builds slowly. You pause to work at a clump of dried slime, picking at the slightly knotted curl. It takes a moment before it gives underneath your patient hands. You let your hands slide back to Holtz’s scalp, cradling her skull. She makes a soft noise as you press your thumbs into the point where her neck and skull connect. When you increase the pressure, dragging your thumbs up with the motion, the noise morphs into a moan. You drop a smug kiss onto the cluster of freckles on her left shoulder. She leans back against you, wet skin slick against yours. You trail your fingertips through her hair again before giving up due to the awkward position. Instead, you start to pick at some small knots, letting her hair loop around your fingers until you can untangle it. You work up a bit more of a lather before grabbing the cup floating in the lukewarm bathwater. You turn on the tap and fill the cup. Holtz tips her head back to keep the water out of her eyes as you start to pour it over her hair. You watch the suds run, forming little rivers of soap through the winding mass of hair. The water’s darkened her hair to a caramel color, soft and rich. Holtz tilts her head and her hair spills over your chest. You bite your lip and keep rinsing out her hair.  


“What’s that big brain of yours thinking about?” you murmur, tipping another cup of water over her hair and running your fingers through the strands to coax more of the shampoo out. The soapy water runs over your hands in a warm waterfall. You examine a few strands and finally, finally, see no evidence of slime.  


“An isotope that might up the nuclear yield,” she says immediately. “And my brain is perfectly average sized, I’ve seen the scans.”  


You roll your eyes. “You know what I meant,” you say, grabbing the conditioner. Again, you trace small patterns over Holtz’s scalp as you massage the conditioner in. It’s almost comforting now to wind and unwind her hair around your fingertips. It never fails to strike you as slightly bizarre to see her hair almost entirely straight under the weight of the water. You find yourself trying to put the curl back into her hair without even thinking about it.  


Holtz hums under her breath as you twist her hair into a rope, running a hand over the outside to thoroughly coat it with conditioner. You set the twist of hair down over her shoulder to let the conditioner set. “And you,” she says suddenly. “I usually am.”  


“What?”  


“Thinking about you. I usually am. At least a bit.” She shifts against you, sitting up just enough so you can’t see her face. She coughs and blows out a deep breath. Her shoulders are hunched.  


“Hey,” you say softly, tugging on a strand of hair that’s escaped the twist and is already starting to curl, just slightly. “Me too.” You nudge her until she turns to face you. It’s not graceful on either of your parts as you try to maneuver without either of you slipping. You end up having to sit up with a wince as she knocks the shampoo bottle over. Her hair comes out of the twist as she moves; the strands right by her face are starting to curl too, still that slightly darker shade of golden. She clears her throat but still meets your gaze. Her eyes are all the more blue for the cerulean tiles behind her.  


You can’t help but kiss her.  


She makes a soft noise but nudges forward onto your lap, one hand coming up to rest at the nape of your neck. Water sloshes as you wrap an arm around her waist, an electric jolt running through you at the friction of your wet skin against hers. Holtz nips your bottom lip before pulling away to mouth at your neck. You tilt your head back for a moment and let the sensation ripple through you. When she sucks at your pulse point, you have to bite back a gasp. “Okay,” you say, panting lightly, hands framing her hips and pushing her back a bit. Holtz raises an eyebrow. You mirror her. “That was—that’s great, you’re great, this is always great—“ Holtz’s lips curl up into a slightly smug smirk that starts to fade as you keep talking—“but you definitely covered me in ghost slime today and therefore are not going to get laid.”  


“ _Goddammit._ ”


End file.
